


Drop

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, Other, POV Second Person, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-10-29 20:00:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10861047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: You’re caught in the rain, but Lindir saves you.





	Drop

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for beaflower77’s “21. “Why are you so nice to me” Lindir/reader” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/) [from this list](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/160417565360/prompt-list). 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

You’ve gone to the edge of the path, just ready to turn and head back for the safety of Lord Elrond’s halls, when the skies open up on you. The first few drops are hardly a bother, and you can still enjoy your pleasant stroll through the gardens that slope down through the valley, but then it becomes a light shower, then a steady downpour. Having brought only light robes and sandals appropriate for the spring day, you have to duck beneath the nearest tree, where the branches at least shield you from half the rain.

Nothing can be done about the other half. You press against the trunk as you peer up through the leaves—your blue skies have gone grey. It won’t last, at least—fowl weather never does here. But you might have to wait out the storm. If you try to make a run for it now, you’ll only soak yourself through. You aren’t ready for that cold. Better to be patient, as Lord Elrond has taught you. The heavy clouds above aren’t wholly unpleasant to watch, although the open sunlight was better.

It isn’t too long before you hear the squelch of footsteps hurrying through the sodden grass. You came alone and look down in surprise, expecting to see another poor soul caught out in the trenches. Instead, the footsteps come not from farther out but towards Imladris itself. A young minstrel rushes toward you, a silk umbrella held tight in his nimble fingers. 

Lindir makes it to the roots of your tree, then ducks his head in a polite bow, which you return. His breath is slightly quickened, cheeks flushed with exhilaration—he isn’t normally one to run. Evidently, he deemed you worth running to. He holds the umbrella out towards your hand, offering breathlessly, “Please, take this.”

It would be smarter, perhaps, for him to simply hold it above your head and share it amongst the pair of you, but apparently, he doesn’t wish to presume. You don’t wish to leave him without, but it would be rude to deny the gift. So you say, “Thank you,” as you take the rounded handle from his palm. The brush across his fingers in the process is a welcome warmth. His body always feels as soft as it looks, or at least, has done so on the few occasions when you’ve touched. As you draw the umbrella over your head instead of his, his gentle features light in a smile. Then it occurs to you to ask, “How did you know?”

“I saw you depart this morning,” He answers, nodding back towards the buildings, and in the distance, you can see the sweeping balcony that extends from Lord Elrond’s office. He often works there, as dutiful in his attendance of the lord as he is in his songs. His deep eyes return to you, and he murmurs, “When the rain fell, I feared you had not made it back.”

“And you came to rescue me,” you note, which only fans the blush brighter across his cheeks. He’s all the more lovely for it. You’ve always found him handsome, in his own subtle way, but it comes out most in moments like this, quiet and kind. He drops his gaze aside. 

He opens his mouth, perhaps to say more, but when he doesn’t, you find yourself asking, “Lindir... why are you always so very nice to me?”

Lindir lets out a little sigh, and when his eyes reach you again, it’s with the look of a child that’s been caught in the act of foolishness. He seems to struggle with the words, and eventually, he manages to say, “You are quite beautiful, you know. I have often thought it, though I know not how to say it, how to explain my feelings fully. I have tried to compose a song befitting of them, but it is yet unfinished, for I find new things to add on every meeting. For now, all I know is how to help you were I may.”

It’s your turn to blush. You had some idea, perhaps, but hadn’t dared to hope. To think that he’s written a song for you is wildly flattering. The clouds may as well have parted. All you say is, “Lindir...”

There must be something that says the rest in your eyes, because he steps forward, ducking beneath the canopy of the umbrella, and he murmurs suddenly, “Forgive me.” Then he leans forward and brushes his lips over yours in the chastest kiss you’ve ever had.

You tilt the umbrella to block the moment from Imladris’ view, and then you show him how to do it properly.


End file.
